I stop everything as morning light
mws
casts shadows across my room
I take three deep breaths,
offer a simple thanks
compose and press the shutter
then off to the coffee shop
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Too be like a tree…
To be a giant and keep quiet about it,
Howard Nemerov, The Tree from The Poetry of Presence
To stay in one’s own place;
To stand for the constant presence of process
And always to seem the same;
To be steady as a rock and always trembling,
Having the hard appearance of death
With the soft, fluent nature of growth,
One’s Being deceptively armored,
One’s Becoming deceptively vulnerable;
To be so tough, and take the light so well,
Freely providing forbidden knowledge
Of so many things about heaven and earth
For which we should otherwise have no word—
Poems or people are rarely so lovely,
And even when they have great qualities
They tend to tell you rather than exemplify
What they believe themselves to be about,
While from the moving silence of trees,
Whether in storm or calm, in leaf and naked,
Night and day, we draw conclusions of our own,
Sustaining and unnoticed as our breath
And perilous also—though there has never been
A critical tree—about the nature of things.I read this poem yesterday and loved the message it brought to me. I thought I’d share it on this blog and maybe it will touch you, also. I knew immediately which tree I wanted to include with the post. So this morning on my ride to the coffee shop I stopped to take a moment and admire again this wise old cottonwood elder and take a photo of them. The tree is located along Fisher Natural Area and I have several images of it. You can see in the image we are still experiencing the effects of the forest fires. And, they say it will be hot again today.
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We never belonged to you…
The moment when, after many years
Margaret Atwood, The Moment
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,
is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can’t breathe.
No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.Like so many of my images, something called me to stop and press the shutter button. I pulled into the Running Deer Natural Area parking lot and took the image from there. I did not create any of the beauty in this scene, nature did and lovingly shares it with us. Our task is to accept the gift of its presence and beauty with grateful hearts! May we come to realize we belong in this world not as conquerors but as integral parts of it.
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… and was a flower
once a snowflake fell
Winter Poem by Nikki Giovanni
on my brow and i loved
it so much and i kissed
it and it was happy and called its cousins
and brothers and a web
of snow engulfed me then
i reached to love them all
and i squeezed them and they became
a spring rain and i stood perfectly
still and was a flowerWe have clear blue skies and sunshine this morning. I awoke at about 4:46 am and said ugh, I don’t wanna get up! And, I didn’t. Slept in till 5:45 am. I loved this simple poem and wanted to share it with you. I hope you have a wonderful weekend!!
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A Simple Prayer
I would love to live
John O’Donohue
Like a river flows,
Carried by the surprise
Of its own unfolding.This is a sunrise image taken on the Madison River from a road trip in August of 2022. It was my last day of the trip and I was heading home when I saw this scene. I had to stop. It really didn’t matter if I took a photo or not I just needed to experience the moment. This part of the river is calm while both up river and down river there are rapids and surprises. As a metaphor of life there are days when the flow of life is as calm as this river while there are times when it ain’t and we face surprises. I’m learning to be a part of its unfolding. So, this poem is my prayer for today!
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…never the same
A free afternoon found me
mws
lying in the grass at the park.
Above me a canopy of leaves
offering the gift of cool shade.
I take deep breaths and stay present
while leafhoppers jump around me.
I inhale the scent of freshly cut grass
and hear the unseen blue jay’s call.
Clouds drift above me in a sea of blue sky
as I take in the awe and wonder of nature,
a sanctuary without walls, doors or windows.
I close my eyes in reverence, gratitude, prayer
… and I’m never the same! -
Let my gift…
Let my gift to the world be
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer from The Unfolding
my constancy, a devotion to openness,
my willingness to be with what is.
Let my gift to myself be patience
as I tend to what is dense and dark. -
Exploring..
We shall not cease from exploration,
T.S. Eliot
and the end of all our exploring
will be to arrive where we started
and know the place for the first time.It was a cool bicycle ride on this August morning. The temperature was at 56 degrees and the humidity was over 90% when I mounted the red steed and headed for the coffee shop. I could see the fog lazily drifting along the eastern horizon but we had none here. I had never thought of my bicycling as a form of exploration but I am coming to see that it is. It is not much different than walking the trails, at least at the meandering speed I pedal. I needed to stop on the way home and photograph these (Apocynum cannabinum) leaves covered in dew along Spring Creek Trail. The leaves and stems are quite lovely but probably not something to put in your salad ( see the link). I hope you have a wonderful Tuesday!
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Identity Papers
Why do people keep asking
Mary Oliver
to see God’s identity papers
when the darkness
opening into morning
is more than enough? -
…the world depends on it
Because
So I can’t save the world—
Because from The Unfolding by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
can’t save even myself,
can’t wrap my arms around
every frightened child, can’t
foster peace among nations,
can’t bring love to all who
feel unlovable.
So I practice opening my heart
right here in this room and being gentle
with my insufficiency. I practice
walking down the street heart first.
And if it is insufficient to share love,
I will practice loving anyway.
I want to converse about truth,
about trust. I want to invite compassion
into every interaction.
One willing heart can’t stop a war.
One willing heart can’t feed all the hungry.
And sometimes, daunted by a task too big,
I tell myself what’s the use of trying?
But today, the invitation is clear:
to be ridiculously courageous in love.
To open the heart like a lilac in May,
knowing freeze is possible
and opening anyway.
To take love seriously.
To give love wildly.
To race up to the world
as if I were a puppy,
adoring and unjaded,
stumbling on my own exuberance.
To feel the shock of indifference,
of anger, of cruelty, of fear,
and stay open. To love as if it matters,
as if the world depends on it.









